The Dark Beyond the Stars
by grandillonot
Summary: None had seen her in the corridor when she emerged, and none had been present to see her dart in and back out of that Runes classroom, and then, forced to accept that the door was not her ticket out of 1903, crumple against it. She had come through so much, she had defeated so much, and for what? For Hogwarts to dump her in the past like she was another classroom it could put away
1. Chapter 1

Hermione would be the first to admit that it had been a long few days, that she should rest, that the tasks she had given herself and had since obsessively completed, were not necessary. Not necessary for the security of the castle, or the welfare of its inhabitants, or the state of wizarding Britain at large. Still, she worked. As the others slept, or wept, or celebrated, she alone sorted through the wreckage of the castle.

It was slow going, but not difficult. The castle wanted to heal itself, it only lacked the hands to move damaged beams or clear away the collapsed masonry.

For days Hermione worked, gradual and thorough, banishing what the castle could replace and mending what it couldn't. Quite quickly she caught onto the trick of Hogwarts' fast recovery. For what it could not fix, the castle simply put away. Whole corridors sunk into the bowels of the structure, and out came similar, yet not exact, replicas.

She walked these with great curiosity. Many of the portraits were the same as she remembered, although they had been moved to better align to these new halls. Some, though, were new to her, and no sign of what had been there before. She supposed those missing must have been the worst off, that the castle had stored them away for later attention, but she wondered about these new paintings. Had they been damaged once, too?

There were more things to catch her attention beyond the walls, though. She lingered in these new halls, and her sharp eyes caught details of their past. Abandoned quills and scraps of parchment, the occasional mislaid scarf or glove. In many places it looked as if class had just let out, these halls only recently emptied.

She peeked in at many of the classrooms, but it was several tries before she found what she was after. It was a room that would've sat a hundred students, in the style of an amphitheatre- a round bowl at the front and rising levels of seats behind. Hermione didn't know how long it had been since Hogwarts had need for such large classrooms- decades, centuries? She knew her own class had been cut lean by the first war, but by so many dozens? Had wizards really counted so many, once?

The room was cooler than the hall beyond, and she shivered as she descended the steps. There was a desk down there, at the center of the bowl, and a stack of books on the desk. The first was a runic dictionary, opening it to the frontispiece she found what she was after: _Published 1892, Magpie & Rowle_. She went down the stack, checking their dates: 1890, 1901, 1903. The last of these was crisp, it's spine unbroken. It still had a new book smell to it.

She spent a few minutes studying them each closer. All were books on Runes, and Hermione gathered that this must once have been the Ancient Runes classroom. That made her think- Runes was an elective, Hermione's class had numbered less than a score, yet a mere century ago it had netted a classroom with enough space for five times that number.

She stored the books in her bag for a more thorough inspection at a later date. What other surprises did these old classrooms have waiting? She gripped her bag tightly, nails biting into the fabric between beads. For months she had pushed forward with little more driving her than a desperate need for survival. Stripped of that, these last few days it had been duty. She had helped save this world, this small sheltered enclave of a larger and imperfect whole, and she was going to help put it back together again. To make it better, even.

Survival, duty- they had been enough to get her through, to get the job done, but standing in that classroom, her feet in the past and her eyes on what could be, what had once been, she felt a new purpose. There was a future for her, for her friends, for all of wizarding Britain. They had a say, now. They had changed the world, and they could change the path of their future.

She sent a last look over the room, then climbed back up the stairs, eager now to explore. She rushed back out the door, trying to piece together a mental map of how these new corridors fit into the whole, then froze in the doorway.

The light that came through the windows had changed. It had been a sunny May afternoon minutes before, but now there was slush on the ground outside, and the sunlight was weak and grey. She went to the window- below in the East Wing courtyard, students were gathered in small groups, socializing or studying, or both. It was difficult to make out individuals, with each of them in their hats and robes, but one thing was clear. Even from a distance she could see those robes were the wrong shape: the skirts longer and wider, the sleeves oddly puffed. The hats were different, too, the brims much more dramatic, many with one side or the other pinned up to the shell of the hat in a flourishing curl.

She gripped her wand tightly, pushing down the panic that bubbled up in her throat.

"_Tempus_," she cast, and leaned hard against the window at the result. _Friday, December 18th, 1903, 10:26. _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Help

Small mercies, she supposed. None had seen her in the corridor when she emerged, and none had been present to see her dart in and back out of that Runes classroom, and then, forced to accept that the door was not her ticket out of 1903, crumple against it. She had come through so much, she had defeated _so much_, and for what? For Hogwarts to dump her in the past like she was another classroom it could put away for safekeeping?

Sparks shot from her wand, still gripped tight in her hand. The small shock roused her, made her take stock of her situation. It was 1903, she was at Hogwarts. She was wearing muggle clothes, she had her wand and the contents of her beaded bag.

She had one problem that could easily be solved. She pulled a set of Ron's robes out of her bag, to give herself the most fabric to work with. They were the robes he had worn to Bill and Fleur's wedding, a dark navy blue that had seemed stiffly formal for a garden wedding, but might suit her new circumstances.

She stepped back into the Runes classroom to do her work. She stored her clothes and trainers in her bag and pulled on the plain black under-robe from her Hogwarts uniform and transfigured the sleeves so they had more of the look of the uniforms from the courtyard- excess fabric that held stiff from shoulder to elbow, then lay tight against the forearm. It tested the integrity of the linen, and she felt it thin out in places to shift mass to the arms, but a slight transparency wasn't a problem. It could be an improvement, even, as, when she charmed the whole garment white, it made the cloth seem finer, like sheer gossamer. She pulled Ron's robes over this, and used a tailoring charm to fit the tightly laced bodice to her chest, then slit and hemmed the sleeves so that they fell slightly behind the newly transfigured sleeves of her under-robe.

She trimmed the trailing end of the skirt and used that fabric to fashion a pair of soft slippers. She considered her hair for several moments, thinking back to that afternoon in her fourth year, preparing for the Yule Ball. She used a charm she had learned from Lavender, shaping her messy curls into orderly ringlets and then pinned them back away from her face. It would suffice.

Her next course of action wasn't so obvious. She was stranded in the past, no friends, no connections, not even a hint as to how she might get back to her time. She dithered for several moments before inspiration struck.

She was more relieved to see Phineas Nigellus' scowling face than she could say- she had expected to find it empty. "Miss Granger," he protested as she leaned his frame against the wall, then his eyes sharpened on her. "This is a far cry from your muggle costume. What has happened?"

"Hogwarts has happened," she said, smoothing down her skirt self-consciously. "I was was looking around in one of the classrooms it pulled out and stepped out into 1903."

Phineas' eyes narrowed. "I would not have gone nosing around while the castle was still repairing itself. I'm not surprised you found yourself on the wrong side of such tricky magic."

"How do I get back?"

He eyed her, lingering over the details of her robes. "Did you do this yourself?" he asked. "It's certainly not the most inspired of designs, but quite suitable, regardless. You've impressed me, Miss Granger."

"Professor!" she snapped. "Please, how do I get out of 1903?"

He frowned. "Miss Granger I frankly fail to understand why you would _want_ to. You left a world torn apart by war for a time of relative tranquility. You have knowledge of the future and a not inconsiderable talent- you could establish yourself very comfortably, here."

"I can't just leave my life behind!" She scowled, "I need to get back to Harry and Ron, to my parents."

She knew she wasn't going to like what he was going to say as a slow smirk slid across his face. "Well, you're a young woman, it's only 90 years or so, you'll get there eventually."

She kicked the floor in frustration.

In a more mollifying tone, Phineas said, "Girl, if I knew what answer to give you, you would have it. I never involved myself with more than the mundane passage of time, and for good reason. If the year is as you say than we're only a few years removed from that unfortunate business with the Mintumble woman."

Hermione had read about Eloise Mintumble in her third year, when she had possessed a relevant interest in learning about time travel incidents. Mintumble had gone back to the 15th century and by the time the Department of Mysteries had managed to bring her back a dozen people had popped out of existence and the entire time stream had been unstable for weeks. Mintumble had died of old age in St. Mungo's shortly after returning, her trip back through time having aged her every one of those 400 years.

If Hermione's choice came to reaching her time as an old woman regardless, she would choose the slow path, but she was determined she wouldn't need to. Hogwarts had put her here, and it was going to put her back.

"1903," she bit her lip in thought. "Who's the Headmaster?"

A slow smile split Phineas' face. "Why, it's me, of course."

Hermione stood up straighter. "It's you?" Her thoughts raced, recalling all the rules that had been taught to her when she was thirteen. One mustn't interact with the past, not any more than absolutely necessary. And one certainly wasn't to tell someone they were a time traveller. But it wasn't a time-turner that had taken her here, was it? Hogwarts had. Surely she could speak to it's Headmaster? Phineas' portrait was well and good, but it was a shallow impression of the wizard he had been, and its scope was limited. "Would you help me?" she asked.

Phineas tapped his chin with his first finger, his signet ring catching the light of the painted candles. "I believe I would. It's an interesting case, and you are, technically, still a student of Hogwarts. You could argue I'm contractually bound to offer you my assistance."

"Alright," she said, nodding. She gathered her things, then checked with Phineas before she put his frame back, "Will _you_ help me, if I need it?"

He scowled at her. "If you need it, Miss Granger, I'll help."

"Thank you, Professor," she said, then eased the frame back into the bag.

She smoothed her robes out, stowed her wand, and set out for the Headmaster's office, trying to project a confidence she didn't necessarily feel.


End file.
